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Mosaics

By Seth Jani

Posted on June 30, 2017

After the annulment of lightIn the stubborn kiln of winterThere is a beginning that hurts.You hear it in the troubled crySpun from treetops, In the muffled bending of treesCracking off the frost.When you wander through the streetsStunned by the bright emergence,The wakened sunshine,You start to rememberThe endless colors of the world: The Adriatic with its whitened dazzle,Michelangelo’s angel-bitten blue,All the faded shades of longingIn the remnants of the Roman Forum.Everywhere you look A kind of prismatic disbeliefShocks your darkened pupils.In a place made by the danceOf light on our sluggish neuronsPerhaps a burst of colors is all we have.We learn to name our indigos and reds,Assign them functions, provinces of the heart.One day we believe there will beA blotting out of light,An indistinction settling downUpon our senses.In that sudden and final darknessPerhaps the jubilant and fading sparksWill be the only comfort.Candles in the dimmed-down cathedralOf the brain lighting for one last timeThe rich mosaics,The stained-glass windowsWith their springtime scenes.

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